In Which Draco Malfoy Is Not Gay
by The Mudblooded Slytherin
Summary: A series of oneshots in which Draco Malfoy is not gay.
1. Marcus Widder

Marcus Widder could be described as a young Draco Malfoy. Of course, if one decided to describe Marcus Widder that way, one might want to preface "Draco Malfoy" with (in addition to young); short, sweaty, plump, mousy brown, pimply, unrefined, and socially awkward. His trousers also had the most unappealing habit of slowly sliding down until half his bum was showing. In short, Marcus Widder was nothing like Draco Malfoy.

This, however, did nothing to stop Marcus buying every single _Witch Weekly, SexMagic Monthly_, or _Vogue_ he came across in which the illustrious wizard graced the pages. He even had a formidable collection of _Daily Prophet_ clippings, even though those pictures weren't usually as flattering. In fact, Marcus' obsession may very well have flourished _because_ of his stark contrast in every way, shape, and form to the platinum blond, mid-to-late-twenties socialite, and not just _in spite_ of it.

One day, while Marcus' father was out with his other sons, pretending he didn't have a pansy in the family, and Marcus' mother was wondering if she should teach Marcus that new spell she read about that mended small rips and tears in clothing, Marcus himself was reading with great relish an article in _Pre-Teen Magic-Folk Sub-Biannually_. The article, directly to the right of a full-page photo of a winking Draco, was telling Marcus, besides the obligatory things, such as Favorite Pizza Topping: None because pizza was too greasy for his complexion, and that he preferred meaningful relationships as opposed to one-night-stands, about a contest. The contest required that the applicants send in an essay, 500-1000 words, explaining _Why Draco Should Pick You Out Of Countless Other Applicants To Take Out To Dinner!!_

Marcus was ecstatic. Dinner with Draco Malfoy? It was too good to be true! He didn't spare a thought for the other contestants; he would write that essay. And he would win that contest. He was sure of it.

* * *

_Dear Draco,_

_Hi. My name is Marcus. Ever since I was little I knew I was different from all the other boys. They would run about outside and ride on toy brooms and have pretend duels and play with bugs, but I would just want to stay inside and not get dirty. My brothers made fun of me and beat me up a lot. They still do, actually, but that's okay, because one day when I was eleven I saw your picture in my mother's _Cooking With The Stars - The New Twice-Weekly Edition!_ and I knew then that everything I was feeling was alright. I knew I wasn't alone anymore. I knew that you, too, were like me, were --_

"Ugh, what is this? I'm not gay!"

Draco, lounging serenely on a chaise, tossed both his silvery hair (away from his eyes) and the parchment (to the ground) and picked up the next entry off of the solid ivory side table.


	2. Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy really didn't know why people thought he was gay. Just because he took interest in how he looked. Just because he spent some small amount of time on his hair. Just because he liked the way silk knickers felt on his private parts. Really, Draco felt that those things had absolutely nothing to do with which genders he did or did not want to have in his bed.

"Hey, Pansy!" someone called. Pansy looked towards the source of the noise. "Not you, the _other_ pansy!"

A group of boys laughed loudly at this. Draco looked forlornly towards his best female friend. "I don't understand, Pansy! I've never given anyone any reason to think I didn't like birds. I do! I even have all those lingerie magazines -"

"You shop them, Draco," Blaise interjected.

Draco sniffed in a dignified sort of way, ignored him, also in a dignified sort of way, and went on complaining to Pansy (admittedly, in a less dignified sort of way).

"Just because I take care of my clothes and style my hair and think garter belts are a smashing way to keep one's socks from falling down, that doesn't have anything to do with whether or not I'm sexually attracted to men." He stated this so firmly that Pansy felt obligated to agree. Blaise snickered.

"Obviously," she said. "But maybe if you, I don't know, tried to appear less feminine, they'd leave off," she suggested.

Draco crossed his arms huffily. "I am not feminine."

Blaise raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "If you're not feminine, what are you?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Draco spluttered. "Well, masculine of course!"

Blaise wasn't convinced. "You're about as masculine as Pansy's ovaries."

"I'll show you masculine, you puny little -"

"Stop fighting," Pansy interrupted. "If Draco wants to say he's masculine, that's his business. What we're trying to do is make him look less feminine."

Draco spluttered. "That's-"

"Don't interrupt, Draco."

"Oh, really-"

"Hush. Now, the bell's about to sound, so I recommend picking this up later. Say eight o'clock in the common room?"

"But-" The bell sounded.

Draco considered not meeting Pansy and Blaise. But truth be told, he did want the other boys to stop making fun of him. Also, they would be waiting for him in the common room. He really didn't feel like avoiding his dormitory all night just to avoid them as well.

He plopped heavily down onto the elegant leather chair. "So this is what I was thinking," Pansy began immediately.

Draco had an urge to get Blaise's attention, then roll his eyes to convey a sort of, "That can't be good," gesture, but he was pretty sure Blaise already thought he had a thing for him, so he decided against it.

"What I've been thinking is this: your hair."

Draco's defenses shot up. "What about my hair?" he asked doggedly.

"Cut it."

"No."

"Draco -"

"No."

"Draco, listen -"

"No." Pansy sighed. Blaise snickered. Sometimes Draco wondered why he was even friends with the guy. "And besides. Ever since I grew my hair out girls have always told me they _like it_," he said, with emphasis.

"Ever since you grew out your hair," Blaise said happily, "the girls have placed a bet on which of them will be able to get you pitching for the straight team again." Draco glared at him. "Oh, sorry. Should I not say 'pitching'? Catching, then."

"Blaise," Pansy said reproachfully, "let's play nice, now." Her tone did little. Blaise snickered again and summoned a bottle of Butterbeer from his dormitory, obviously settling in for a show. Pansy deigned to ignore his antics. "Now, Draco," she said, her voice assuming a business-type air. "You have two choices. Cut your hair, or never get a date ever." Draco mumbled something about if there was a bet it stood to reason that he could get any girl he wanted. "What was that?"

"You know, just because I've never gone on a date with a girl, or shown any interest in going on any dates with girls, or that one time I was pissed and Theodore Nott convinced me to -"

Blaise, mid-gulp, started choking helplessly on his Butterbeer. Draco glared. "Anyway, that doesn't have anything to do with what I do or do not like up my -"

It was no use. Blaise was now laughing so hard Draco couldn't get a word in edgewise.

Draco strutted into the Great Hall like he always did. He cast an appraising eye on all the tables, nose held high, like he always did. He tossed his hair diffidently, like he always did. Or rather, he tried to. The lack of hair being tossed reminded him with sudden force - he didn't have it anymore. He'd let Pansy chop it all off last night. He hoped no one saw him, like he never did; he would have looked quite foolish shaking a head of hair that wasn't there, and so he scurried to his seat.

"Smooth, Lockhart," Blaise said.

"Shut up."

"Draco, darling, you look lovely this morning," Pansy said.

"... thanks."

"Hey, Pansy!" someone called. Pansy looked towards the source of the noise. "Not you, the _other_ pansy!"

"I'm not gay!" Draco shouted, then sighed. "They'll never believe me, will they?" Pansy put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Theodore Nott shuffled nervously up to them. "Er, hey, Draco," he said. "I was wondering, this upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, I mean, if you weren't going with anyone..."

Draco's frustration and indignation peaked, and he began to bang his head repeatedly on the table.


	3. Harry Potter

"Draco--"

"Shh. Don't speak. Just feel."

Harry's eyes closed and he lost himself to the sensation of Draco's fingertips running softly across his skin, moving quickly as though the owner of said fingertips wanted to feel every single inch of his lightly-tanned body. He shivered.

"Cold?" Draco's voice asked, with a hint of teasing sarcasm. "Maybe we should go inside, if you don't --"

"Shut up and kiss me."

So Draco did.

Harry felt like he was walking on a cloud. Yeah, there was an evil lunatic bent on his destruction. Yeah, he probably wasn't going to pass Potions this term. Yeah, most of the school hated him again for some or other reason of which he had lost track. But it was okay because Harry Potter Had A Significant Other. He now felt he was able to do things which were previously off-limits. He could give relationship advice without feeling awkward. He could stop complaining about the obscene amounts of Public Displays of Affection and how they were supposed to be against the rules. He could... hardly concentrate on anything other than Draco, something that was quickly becoming apparent to anyone unlucky enough to be in a fifteen-foot radius.

"Oh, yeah," Harry laughed. "That reminds me of the other day when Draco said that he likes to have a lemon slice in his water."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "Harry," she said carefully. "I was talking about the Shades of Green potion, and how you need seven leaves from a hibiscus plant." Harry smiled at her. She hesitated. "What... what does that have to do with Malfoy and lemons?"

"Oh, well Draco likes to have his lemons in perfect..." Harry frowned for a moment in thought. "Sectuples? In seven equal pieces, anyway."

"... right..." Hermione said. "You know, Harry, some of us," she looked behind her and gestured for the others in the common room to come support her. "Some of us have been thinking... this relationship with Malfoy isn't, well, we don't think it's quite healthy."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, confused. "I love him."

"That's it exactly, Harry. You've only been together for two weeks or so --"

"Seventeen days, eight hours, twenty-four minutes --"

"Harry, right there! Do you see?"

Harry didn't.

Hermione sighed. "I didn't want to do this, Harry, but..."

"What? What is it?" Harry asked.

None of them seemed to want to answer. "What is it?" Harry demanded.

Finally, Ron stepped forward.

Harry wished Ron wasn't so cryptic. "Go to the Room of Requirement and want to know the truth." Whatever that meant.

What it meant, however, was clear soon enough.

"Hannah Abbot??"

"Harry, listen to me --"

_"Hannah Abbot??"_

"Harry, calm down, just --"

"I thought -- I thought -- I thought you were gay, to start!"

"Harry," Draco said, a bit condescendingly Harry thought, "I'm not gay. I'm bisexual."

Harry punched him in the face.


	4. Lord Voldemort

Thin wisps of fog blew slowly across the graveyard, dancing with the stationary headstones in a mock-waltz.

It was a shame it was too dark for Voldemort to see that. He would have loved the ambiance it would have created were visible. But at the time, he was currently opening and closing his eyes to see if it made any difference.

"Hmm, if I close my eyes, it's not as dark," he murmured to himself.

"What was that, my lord?"

The Dark Lord started. "What? Oh, I... I don't have to explain myself to you, slave!" Voldemort harrumphed.

"Of course not, my lord. I merely thought you were giving me some sort of instruction, and in my haste to do your bidding I was overzealous in my response. Please forgive me."

At that moment, Voldemort hated that he made his slaves where those ridiculous masks. Not that it mattered. Because he had them meeting in this ridiculous graveyard it would be too dark to see the idiot's face, anyway.

Thinking of all these lapses in judgment where appearances took precedent over rational logic made Voldemort rather cranky.

"I see no reason why I should do anything of the sort." Voldemort sniffed. He didn't want to try any curse; in this light (or lack thereof) he'd doubtless miss, and that was out of the question. "Right now, you are a problem. I'd advise you to fix yourself."

There was muttering, then a shot of green light (which was too bright, and hurt Voldemort's eyes), then a thud. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes. He'd hadn't meant for the fool to kill himself, just torture a bit. Ah well. One less idiot slave.

After a few more minutes of standing alone in complete silence and darkness, Voldemort had had enough. He fished his wand out of his pocket and very carefully conjured a candle and, even more carefully, lit it. What he saw made him start and almost drop the candle in his surprise.

All his followers were standing quietly in their customary half-circle. Except for the one to his left, who was at the moment laying on the ground dead. Severus Snape, then. Shame, he _hadn't_ been an idiot. Voldemort looked down upon the corpse, and had to reevaluate that opinion. He hadn't been an idiot while alive.

The Dark Lord sighed. That seemed to be the way with most of his followers these days. Dying, that was. The side of All That Is Evil And Bad was clearly not doing so well. Which brought him back to the meeting.

"Now. We all know that _Dumbledore_ and his legions of Truth Troopers are on the offensive. It is because of our clear and obvious failure that I suggest a new tactic: let's do whatever we want while we're still alive."

Murmurs ran through the crowd.

"My lord," said the slave to his right. Lucius Malfoy. "Does this mean we finally get to pillage towns and rape unsuspecting teenage girls and have mass Death Eater orgies for no real reason?"

"Yes," Voldemort responded.

Murmurs ran through the crowd.

"You are free to act however your heart and libido dictate. All I ask for in return is one last pleasure." The Dark Lord looked around at his followers.

"Anything, my lord," Lucius said.

"I want your son, Malfoy," Voldemort said.

The slightly shorter figure to Lucius' right started. "No way!"

"Hush, son. You must go with the Dark Lord and do whatever he tells you," Lucius said.

The Dark Lord leered.

Draco Malfoy ripped off his mask angrily. "I'm not going with that senile old fool! I'm not going to be his sex slave! This is ridiculous, I thought the Death Eaters were about reasserting the power and dominance to the rightful people, not gay sex-orgies! I'm not even gay!"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "What I will require of you does not demand you to be a homosexual."

He looked relieved. "No?"

"No," agreed Voldemort. "All you have to do is lay still."


	5. Pansy Parkinson

Today was the day. Today was _her_ day, and Pansy Parkinson knew it. She smirked into the mirror. Her reflection smirked back, looking, dare she say it? hot. Her makeup was done just right, making her eyes look smoky and alluring. Her new fitted Hogwarts vest her mother sent her actually fit because of the push-up bra that came with it. She had used a nifty little spell to shorten her skirt a daring five inches. She was the picture of feminine sexuality. If he turned her down again today, it could only be because he wasn't into feminine sexuality. She smudged a bit more lipstick on, finally satisfied with her appearance. As was her reflection, who told her to, "Go get him, girl!" And so Pansy did.

She strutted up the stairs to the common rooms. Ted whistled appreciatively, but she had no time for burly Theodore today. She was going after the King Fish. She strutted out the portrait hole and up through the corridors to the Great Hall. Four boys had checked her out on the way here. She had counted. That was pretty good considering she had only passed five people, and she wasn't sure that Hannah had been complimenting her vest simply because she liked the _vest_. Pansy considered it to be a perfect five out of five, and strutted into the Hall feeling like a million galleons. She strutted over to the Slytherin table, scanning for his silver hair. Unfortunately, he wasn't there. Pansy was slightly devastated; this possibility hadn't occurred to her. Blaise's jaw was on the floor, however, and that made her feel better. She had all day to find Draco. Feeding her ego for a while could only make her sensuality glow more, she figured.

Admittedly, the flush of her cheeks was rather attractive as she climbed out of the broom closet and bid Blaise goodbye. She made a quick stop in the lavatory to fix her makeup and make a new game plan. Draco wasn't in her first class. She wasn't sure how that had happened; she had signed up for her classes specifically because she knew Draco was taking them. But apparently he had switched to Home Economics, Merlin knew why, and the class was too full for her to join him. After that was a study period with Snape for both of them, but Draco always skipped those, rarely even showing up to begin with. That meant that the next chance she had to see him was lunch. She would get to the Hall early, not wanting to miss him again. Not too early, though. She wanted to get there after it was nearly full so Draco could see how she turned every boy's head.

Pansy's first class passed unremarkably. Blaise passed her notes the entire time, each saying _study period. me, you, library. yes?_ or something similar. She was flattered, but less interested. Blaise, she had found, was not a good kisser. He seemed a bit put off when every single one of his notes ended up in the trash. Pansy didn't care. She was singly focused on one man. She scrawled "Mrs. Pansy Malfoy" at the top of her parchment, and, without realizing it, turned it in.

She was right, Draco skipped study period again. She wasn't worried, though. She had waited six years, she could wait until lunch. And besides, Snape was looking at her in a very interesting way indeed. Pansy bit her lip. Her potions grade could use a boost, and she had always thought Snape was good-looking, in a scary sort of way. She stood up, knocking her quill to the ground as she did so.

She looked round as she picked it up and saw Snape trying to subtly check out her bum. Placing the quill carefully on her desk, she sashayed up to his desk.

"Professor...?" she asked, breathily, waiting for him to respond before she finished her question.

There was a long pause as he looked at her, avoided looking at her, and finally realized she was waiting for him to speak. He coughed violently. Pansy smirked inwardly.

"Yes, what is it, what?" he said quickly.

"We-eh-ll..." Pansy was enjoying drawing it out, watching him squirm. She never had this much power over the Professor before. "I was just wondering... if I could get some supplies out of the cupboard? I wanted to get a head start on Thursday's potion," she said earnestly. There was another silence as Snape analyzed her. She felt her upper hand slipping a bit, but stifled the feeling. Snape's gaze did that to everyone. This was just Snape, figuring out what she was up to.

"Of course, child." Snape smiled predatorily. "Anything for an aspiring Potions Master." His look leveled at her, waiting for the next move.

Pansy bit her bottom lip, looking abashed. "Do you think you could help me find the Ash root? I always get it confused with the Pine, and I don't want to powder the wrong one." She let her eyebrow arch and a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

Snape grinned slowly. "... We don't want that, do we?"

Pansy cursed herself for being so greedy. Her encounter with the professor had taken much longer than she had planned, and though she couldn't quite say she regretted it, she hoped dearly it hadn't cost her her lunch meeting with Draco. She sped through the lavatory, fixing smudges and re-applying faster than she thought possible, and rushed to the Great Hall, not worrying about who saw her run. Outside the doors she stopped, straightened her clothes, and took a deep breath. She strutted in, feeling almost as good as she had that morning.

When she reached the table, however, it was the same feeling as breakfast. She let out a breath and slumped onto the bench. She found that she had missed Draco by mere minutes. She almost went rushing out again, but decided against it. After all that had happened today, she had to make sure the meeting went perfectly.

She went through the last three classes in a daze. Draco skipped all of them. Apparently, no one knew where he was. Well, it seemed Greg knew where he was, but he wasn't talking. Pansy planned to corner him at the end of last class and force the information out of him. It seemed, as Pansy stalked over to him, that Greg had sensed what was coming. He looked worried, yet resigned. As he already knew what she wanted, she simply stood in front of him with her arms crossed and glared.

"Look, Pansy. I'm not telling you anything."

"Look, Greg. You will tell me everything."

"I will not!" he protested.

Greg sighed happily as he buttoned up his trousers. Everyone thought he was stupid, but he wasn't. Draco had told him what to say to Pansy. He hadn't told him that if he held out for long enough (thirty seconds) he would get laid. That had been all his idea. "Draco heard you were looking for him, and, well, everything. He wants me to tell you that he's flattered, but-"

Pansy interrupted. This isn't what she wanted to hear. "If Draco has something to say to me, why can't he say it himself? And if he wants me to know, why did I just sleep with you?"

Greg shrugged. _Because you're scary, and because you're slutty_, is what he wanted to say. Instead, he repeated what he and Draco had rehearsed. "Draco is very flattered by your continued interest and renewed efforts, but he would like to inform you, in the strictest confidence..." he waited until Pansy huffed that she wouldn't tell anyone, "that he's gay."

Pansy stared. There was nothing else she could do. Greg turned and walked back to the Slytherin boys' dormitory, where Draco was waiting for news. "I dunno why you hate Pansy so much, Draco," he said, as he flopped down on his bed. "When she puts on makeup, she's not that ugly. And she's damn good in the sack."

Draco shivered at the thought. "I don't really know. Maybe it's because I know that under the makeup she's hideous. Or maybe it's because my father really wants me to marry her and join the families. Or maybe it's because she's been obsessed with me for so long. All I know is the thought is as sickening to me as... as... having sex with you." Draco sighed. "By the way, did she believe you when you told her I was gay?"

Greg shrugged.

Malcolm Baddock, who happened to be walking by the door, stuck his head in. "Draco, you're gay?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not gay, Malcolm. Sorry."

Malcolm frowned. "My loss," he said sadly, and walked away.


	6. Luna Lovegood

Luna Lovegood knew a lot of things. People thought she was a bit dim, but really she wasn't. She was in Ravenclaw after all. She knew the incantation for the Rhynnian charm, and the incantation for when it went wrong. She knew how to decipher most of the runes presented to her in class, and if there ever was one she didn't know she immediately rectified the situation. She knew Harry had a crush on Ginny long before Harry did, and she knew that Draco Malfoy was completely bent.

None of these facts surprised Luna in the least. When Luna learned something, it was always an, "Oh, well, that explains it," sort of feeling. So when rumor had it that Malfoy was dating that cow Pansy Parkinson she was, for one of the first times in her life, quite surprised.

On the outside, they seemed like a perfect couple. They walked to class together, ate meals together. Draco would give her a little kiss on the cheek sometimes. It was horribly sickening. Luna knew that it was a sham. Perhaps Malfoy was using her to hide the fact that he was gay. A beard, as they say. Luna decided some investigative reporting was called for.

Investigative Reporting was the name of a game Luna played when younger. She'd walk around and ask people, "Who did it?" and try and follow small animals without being detected. She had better form now, but the principles were essentially the same.

* * *

"What do you know about Malfoy?" she asked Blaise Zabini, who looked surprised and alarmed.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"Luna Lovegood, investigative reporter. Now, what do you know about Malfoy?"

Blaise looked suspiciously at her. "I don't know anything about Malfoy. Excuse me."

* * *

"What do you know about Malfoy?" she asked Vincent Crabbe, who looked confused.

"I dunno."

"You don't know what you know about Malfoy?"

"I know Malfoy says I'm not supposed to tell people about him," Crabbe amended.

"Tell people what about him?" Luna pressed.

Crabbe shook his head. "I can't tell you that."

* * *

"What do you know about Malfoy?" she asked a Slytherin first year.

"I know to get out of his way," the first year said. "That's about it."

* * *

"What do you know about Malfoy?" she asked Daphne Greengrass.

Daphne smirked. "I know he's as hot as a fire charm."

"Anything else?"

"What is it you're looking to find out?" Daphne asked.

Luna was suddenly guarded. "Just… information."

Daphne smirked at her again. "You want to know about him and Parkinson," she said knowingly.

Luna started. "How did you know?"

"You're not the first," Daphne said. Luna figured that was probably true. She couldn't be the only one who thought Draco Malfoy was fruity.

"So what's the story?" Luna asked, excited.

"Word is," Daphne said, lowering her voice, "he doesn't really want to be with her."

"So why is he?" Luna was breathless.

"No one really knows, but it's true that they haven't sealed the deal yet." At Luna's confused expression she said, "You know. Fucked." Luna gasped. "I know, right?" said Daphne, misinterpreting Luna's outburst somewhat. "It's outrageous. I mean, Malfoy isn't one to wait when he's got a girlfriend."

Luna was flabbergasted. "He's had _other girlfriends?_"

Daphne shrugged. "Yeah, lots. He used to keep it quiet because his father wanted to do one of those arranged marriage things some of the old Pureblood families still do." Daphne sighed happily. "That man is a lady killer."

* * *

Later that night, Luna was having a hard time deciphering her emotions, which never happened. She always knew what she was feeling, she was feeling it for Merlin's sake! But ever since her conversation with Daphne Greengrass she felt nervous and nauseous and happy and upset and, understandably, very confused. She decided to take it in steps.

Draco Malfoy wasn't gay. How did she feel about that? They were quiet feelings, as though they were scared to come into the light. There was the slight pang of disappointment every Ravenclaw felt when they were proved wrong about something, but that could be disregarded. She felt… nervous. And… happy. How strange.

Draco Malfoy slept around. This time the reaction was immediate: nausea, disappointment. Even… anger? No. Jealousy? Luna didn't feel jealousy very often so it took a while to come to terms with that. If she was jealous of Malfoy's past conquests that could only mean one thing.

But she was a Ravenclaw, and that meant thorough. There was one more piece of information to decipher, and that was Pansy. Malfoy hadn't slept with her. Malfoy, many Slytherins thought, didn't even want to be with her. Emotions this caused to surface were simple. Confusion – why was he dating her, then? But this was quickly pushed to the side by a nervous, flittering sort of happiness. He didn't like her.

All these things, once deciphered, made a very clear picture. She liked Draco Malfoy. _Like _liked him. She didn't know where it had come from, but for once she didn't really care. It was a nice feeling.

* * *

Draco looked at her as she walked towards him in the library with a guarded expression. Luna deduced that he had heard she was asking questions about him.

"I heard you've been asking questions about me, Luna Lovegood, " he said, without preamble, when she reached his table. Her heart skipped a beat. He hadn't called her Loony.

"Yes," she said simply, and sat down. "I thought you were gay."

Draco stared. "I'm not gay."

"If you're not gay, why are you dating Pansy?" she asked. She realized after she said it that that could be considered very rude towards Pansy, but Draco gave a startled laugh, and it was alright.

He looked at her for a moment. "Keep a secret?" he asked.

Luna nodded excitedly. "Of course!"

"I haven't told anyone this. Besides Pansy, of course. I don't want it getting back around to my father."

"I would never," Luna insisted.

"Alright, if it will get you to stop asking questions… My father is trying to arrange a marriage," he said, and grimaced. "I didn't used to think I'd have a problem with it, but the girl he's picked, well, she's from Russia and she's not really my type, if you know what I mean."

Luna didn't really know what he meant, but that wasn't important. "So you're just dating someone to date them? So your father won't make you marry someone else?"

Draco nodded.

Suddenly, Luna was shy. "Well, er, if you wanted, you could, erm. Date me."

Draco stared at her with an incredulous look on his face. "Date you?"

Luna shrugged and muttered, "It's an option."

Draco didn't say anything else, just laughed and laughed and laughed. Luna ran from the library with the sound of it ringing in her ears. I liked you better when you were gay, Draco Malfoy, she thought furiously, blinking back tears.


End file.
